by Laura Kemp
‘Things have changed,’ she said, dropping her eyes.
‘And yet here I am. And so are you.’
Wanda dared to look up and found he was appealing to her to go with him on this journey. It couldn’t start now, the answers she sought wouldn’t be revealed here in a field. But then he was biting his lip, looking pensive.
‘Wanda …’ he said quietly. There it was again, the attraction, the thing between them, like a rope pulling them towards each other.
Her feet tensed as if they were applying the brakes but still she could feel herself giving in, like it was the most natural thing in the world. What was he about to say?
‘Yes …’ she almost whispered, feeling ridiculous that something important was coming and here she was in flip-flops, cut-off denim shorts and a faded cerise T-shirt from a freebie trip which declared What Happens in Benidorm Stays in Benidorm.
‘Wanda! Wanda!’ Carys was waving both arms and waddling towards her.
Not now! Come on, Lew! But as her sister came closer, he swallowed and then shook his head.
‘It’s fine, it was nothing important,’ he said.
No! Wanda wanted to throw herself at him, shake him by the shoulders and tell him to spit it out.
‘Hang on a sec, Carys!’
‘You won’t believe this!’ she was shouting, ignoring Wanda’s request.
‘Catch up later, Lew?’ Wanda asked, hearing the desperation in her own voice.
‘Er … I can’t actually. I’m out tonight.’ He put his hands on the back of his neck.
‘We’ve got our first booking off the website!’ Carys screamed, launching herself at Wanda. The combined force of one bump and two big boobs almost winded her – so this was what it felt like to be a skittle hit by a trio of bowling balls.
‘What?’ This was great news! But still a part of Wanda wished Carys could have waited five minutes.
‘I know! Come on up and I’ll show you!’ Carys started to drag Wanda away. And then she realised she was leaving Lew behind. ‘I don’t know why you’re standing like a statue, Lewis Jones,’ Carys said, ‘Blod says you’re on a date, you better get a move on!’
A date? Wanda let herself be pulled along, her head trailing back at Lew, watching him drop his chin and pat his pockets as if he was looking for his phone in a classic delaying tactic which put dead air between them. A torrent of thoughts came at her: he was going on a date! But he’d only just got back to Gobaith! He hadn’t wasted any time, had he? She was jealous, she realised, and bewildered too because she’d thought they’d had a moment back there: he’d been on the verge of a declaration of some kind … or had he? Her inner drama queen had read too much into it. God, he made her feel so frustrated, in every way possible. That wavelength of theirs was all jumbled up now. Her feet were tripping over themselves as she headed back to the farmhouse. That was life all right, not neat bows and tidy tying up of ends, but knots and fraying edges, laces that came undone and tried to floor you. Unravelled, that’s how she felt, because in just a few minutes alone with him she’d discovered she wasn’t over him. Those old feelings had bobbed back up, but larger – not merry like little boats in a harbour or sweet like a baby duckling on the water.
Hell, no. They were like floating turds in a flaming bath.
17
There wasn’t much better in Annie’s book than a glorious weekend weather forecast.
It was as if Mother Nature was smoothing her brow, apologising for the necessaries when it came to watering the Mid Wales department of her kingdom. And so Friday’s drizzle was being mopped up by May’s late-afternoon sun, heralding wall-to-wall blue skies and rising temperatures for the next two days. She could simply enjoy the outdoors with no work to spoil it. She’d turn off her phone, too – the ominous withheld-number calls were coming daily now and she was certain it was Dean.
Annie locked the van, which was stuffed with bargain-bucket goodies from Gobaith Garden Centre for tomorrow’s Grow Up club. The less-than-perfect blooms which everyday folk overlooked just needed some TLC. She had cornflowers, dill and plucky red zinnia seeds in damaged packets which weren’t good enough to sit on the shelves. Though the last frost was still a fortnight away, this lot were hardy enough to survive.
The familiar smell of Blod’s lavender fabric conditioner greeted Annie as she let herself in. Shirley and Bassey circled her legs, meowing for food, doing a very convincing job of impending starvation. But she heard voices – those cats were just trying it on! Inside, she found Blod on the sofa alongside a jaw-dropping Mediterranean beauty.
‘Annie! Meet my niece!’
‘I’m Bel, nice to meet you!’ The newcomer waved, shaking back a mane of long straight black hair and smiling with big brown eyes, all twenty-something lithe limbs and tiny-waisted, poured into a skinny pair of jeans and heels. Gobaith wasn’t going to know what had hit it.
‘Hi! How are you?’
‘Stuffed!’ Belmira laughed, patting her flat stomach. ‘My aunty, she seems to think I need a-feeding up! Dinner at the pub last night and lunch out today. Now she’s a-trying to give me Welsh cakes.’ Her English was a strange mix of Welsh and Portuguese and it was very beguiling.
‘How long are you around for? You know, if you want to stay here, I can very happily find somewhere else.’ God knows where. Even though Blod had insisted Belmira would prefer her own space, Annie felt guilty they weren’t under the same roof.
‘It’s really comfy in the pub, but thank you.’ Belmira placed perfectly manicured hands on her chest to show she meant it. ‘It’s only a week so.’
‘I don’t think I’d have room for all her things, to be honest, anyway. Bel is a hand model back home.’ That made sense. ‘Carries all sorts of potions with her to keep them nice.’ Blod rolled her eyes, but she was only teasing – pride was written all over her beaming face.
Annie stuffed her mitts in her pockets – her nails were a disgrace. ‘What are your plans while you’re here?’
Blod answered for her. ‘I want to find her a nice Welsh man, I do. Continue the family line here.’ Belmira tutted playfully at her. ‘I introduced her to Lew last night.’
Annie raised her eyebrows. Lew! Wow. She wondered what he’d made of her.
‘Very nice. Charming.’
Blod winked. But Bel wagged a French-manicured tip at her. ‘My mother, she’ll have your, how do you say, guts for garters, when I tell her you want me here. I live in Lisboa and she already thinks I live in a different country. It’s only two hours from her.’
‘She can talk! She met your father on holiday and never came back. Deserted me, she did! This is payback. And she never visits. Says it’s too cold. It’s always me that has to go over there.’
‘Worse places to go,’ Annie said. ‘Right, I’ll leave you to it. I need a shower.’
‘Post for you there.’ Blod winced as she said it.
But Annie refused to take the blow. She had forty-eight mostly uncharted hours ahead of her, starting with a few beers tonight, a curry if she could persuade Lew; Teg tomorrow, gardening club, a walk, maybe a riverside tea room, arrange a roast for Sunday … Nothing was going to ruin it. Not even the stiff white envelope which had divorce lawyer written all over it. It’d be paperwork, because she’d given him what he wanted. Except it wasn’t. And judging by its contents, repulsive and outrageous, it was purposely timed to arrive on a Friday so that she would spend the entire weekend worrying.
That bastard. She’d taken the blame. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more blood. Something switched in her head – he’d gone too far this time.
‘What is it, love?’ Blod said, getting up.
‘Tell you later. I’ve got to go.’
Annie left and got into her van, revving hard when she took off to find him. She knew exactly where he’d be: at home getting ready for a night on the piss, preloading with c
ans from the shop next door, slapping on the spicy aftershave that had singed her nose hairs. It had taken her years to work out what that smell meant: it was denial in the main, because what it had spelled was trouble. A row with someone in the pub or an accusation the barman had short-changed him, kebab juice and fags on his breath, Annie hoping he’d fall asleep in the chair because otherwise … she felt a sour burn rise in her throat. The drive was determined despite her thumping heart. Crunching gears up narrow lanes, flying down the other side, until she came to the streets of her old life, which closed in on her as she got nearer. But this had to be done. It wasn’t about her now. It was about something far more important.
Her fury didn’t fail her: she pulled up outside the terraced two-up-two-down and noticed how shabby it looked. It hadn’t been when she’d lived there – she’d had a reputation to disprove and she’d scrubbed that step clean every week. Now it had bird poo on it, there were fast-food leaflets stuck in the letter box and the curtains were drawn. The brass knocker of number 17 Jackson Street that she had religiously polished was dull with fingerprints and as she rapped it hard she felt tarnished. Belittled. Humiliated. But she had expected as much – she’d told herself on the journey that this is what he wanted her to feel, and it was how he’d got away with it for so long. She refused to be downtrodden any more.
Her heart was in her throat when the door flew open and Dean Pincher stood there topless in jeans, his ribs exposed like knife blades. How had she allowed him to press them against her? His gunmetal-grey eyes flashed with victory and he tugged on the towel hanging round his neck as if he was a boxer, sending a waft of his stomach-churning scent towards her.
‘Oh look!’ he growled, sucking on a roll-up stuck to his bottom lip, ‘it’s the Lady of the Lake!’
The name he had given her long ago, which at first she had thought was mystical and special. Legend had it a farmer fell in love with a lady who emerged from a lake. After three attempts to woo her, she agreed to marry him on the condition she would leave if he struck her three times. But he accidentally tapped her three times and she had to return to the lake, heartbroken. By calling her that now, he was making a case for his innocence – that whatever wrong had been committed, he hadn’t meant it maliciously.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Annie said in a low, slow voice.
‘What?’ he said, blowing smoke in her face and chucking the butt onto the pavement.
‘Teg. You want custody of her. Are you for real?’ Saying it out loud made it sound even more hideous.
‘My solicitor says you’re incapable of looking after her.’ He scratched his groin and gave a leer that went right through Annie. ‘Putting the poor dab into kennels.’
‘I know what he said! You’re out of your mind! You want me to tell my solicitor that you kicked seven bells out of her? Broke her bones? You can’t even look after yourself, let alone a dog.’
‘I never laid a finger on you,’ he said, as if that was all right then. ‘No need for this, Annie …’ his eyes darted to her body and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, ‘I miss you.’
‘Are you insane?’ The absolute gall of him.
‘Nice warm bed here, dog can have the run of the place.’
‘It’s for sale.’
‘Yeah, we’re having a right time of it trying to sell, we are. Someone keeps forgetting to flush the bog, the bathroom radiator is dripping through the ceiling and those fussy buggers apparently don’t like smoking inside.’
He was disgusting.
‘Keep dragging this out and it’ll cost us both a fortune.’
‘It’s worth it, to see you upset about a fucking dog,’ he sneered. ‘Takes a walk every morning and every afternoon along the same path of the same woods. They’ve taken the lead off her again now. All it’d take would be a nice juicy steak, “Here, girl!” and she’s mine. Court sees dogs as property in a marriage and you know what they say, possession is nine-tenths of the law.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ He snorted through his nose and rolled gob in his mouth.
‘Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just let me go?’
‘Because,’ he said, spitting it out so it landed by her feet, ‘I can. Because you overreacted when you left. It was just a little kick. Deserting me.’ So this was it: his pride was hurt. There was no mention of love. ‘And for what? You look like you’ve been sleeping rough and you’re worse off than when you were with me.’
She remembered she hadn’t stopped to shower – she’d have leaves in her hair. But so what? That was a sign of her independence. He was right about the money, though. Yet she was richer now than she’d ever been.
‘Now listen to me, Dean Pincher, you drop this rubbish. You ring your solicitor now. And while you’re at it, stop making those silent calls.’
He frowned at that, but then remembered what he was up to.
‘Bye, Annie,’ he said, giving her a sarcastic wave. ‘Unless you, you know, want to …’ He raised his eyebrows lasciviously and she actually had the urge to punch him. Fighting to control her anger, incensed by him, she felt a tremble building up her calves, past her knees, shaking her thighs.
‘This isn’t over,’ she hissed.
‘Not until I get that dog, it isn’t, no. Unless she has a terrible accident, running across a busy road. Whoops. Ta ta, Teg.’
And then he slammed the door on her, like a slap in the face. She hated him so much. For exploiting her Achilles heel, for trying to take away her best friend, for thinking she would even be tempted to go back to him, for delaying the sale of the house. For frightening her when she thought she could talk him round. And that tremor she had felt before was now in her arms and along her spine and she was gripped by a cold terror. She had to get Teg and she had to get her now. Into the van, start the engine, seatbelt on, she gave herself instructions to stop the panic taking her mind, just get there, get to the kennels. Come on, come on, she was gripping the steering wheel, shouting at slower drivers, swearing at a tractor, sticking her foot down to overtake and on and on until she screeched to a halt outside The Hound Hotel. Banging on Bonnie’s door, calling her name until she had Teg back in her arms.
‘She’s coming with me,’ Annie said, breathless.
‘It’s a bit sudden, Annie,’ Bonnie said, kindly, full of concern. ‘Are you sure? Can I help with anything?’
‘No, no. Thanks,’ she said, crouched with her face in her dog’s ear. She felt better already, loved by this innocent creature, giving her everything she had in return. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead or come before during opening hours. It’s just … complicated.’
‘I’ll get her bits and bobs, then,’ Bonnie said, gathering her lead and bed, plus her favourite squeaky teddy.
‘Can I settle up online? I’m kind of in a rush.’
‘Of course. Text me tomorrow, I’ll give you the bill then.’
‘Thank you, Bonnie. Thank you.’
‘It’s time to take you home,’ Annie told Teg, who was trotting beside her as if it was Christmas Day and there was a sausage for her under the tree.
But where was home? Where was she going to take her? Blod’s was out of the question. Lew had enough going on with The Bunkhouse and being on call; Wanda too with her mother home. She was alone. Home would have to be wherever she could find it. A crazy idea came to her: that was how desperate she was. She’d make a bed in the van for Teg while she went and played normal with Blod. Then once it was dark and they’d said goodnight, she’d crawl unseen out of the house.
She had a sleeping bag and some blankets – and yes, Dean Pincher, she would sleep rough if she had to.
18
We’re seasoned glampers but nothing has ever compared to our two nights here – it’s not about John Lewis throws and a wine fridge in your accommodation. It’s about where y
ou wake up. Wanda took us out on a sunset canoe cruise, served us prosecco from a bottle chilled in the lake and then as night fell, we tracked the sky with stargazing maps. I came back to shore a fiancée after my boyfriend proposed!
Reformed glamping wankers, Tunbridge Wells
Campsite Visitors’ Book
The Williams women had so much mascara running down their cheeks, they could have passed for an Alice Cooper tribute band.
During the scan, they’d gone through half a box of Kleenex between them. Now, as the sonographer wiped ultrasound gel off the mountain of Carys’s stomach, she invited them to take the rest with them.
‘So they’re definitely fine, then,’ Carys said, hitching up her maternity jeans.
‘Yes.’ Trisha the technician smiled with confidence. She had kept them guessing for ages as she went through the checks of the organs and placenta, her brow low with concentration. The only sound had been the babies’ racing, booming pulses. Then, at last, she had turned the monitor to Carys, Mam and Wanda, announcing a perfect pair of twins. And there they were! Two heads and a tangle of limbs in motion on a black-and-white screen as if they were floating in space.
‘And they’re definitely … the sex, that’s definite, is it?’ Wanda couldn’t help herself. This need to make sure of every bit of information they had was so overwhelming – seeing them both had brought it home to her that she was going to become an aunty to two new human beings. Of course, it had been evident there was something growing in there but, you know, it hadn’t been real until now.
‘As clear as day!’
Carys had jewels of tears in her eyes. ‘They’re fine!’ she said, heaving herself up off the bed.
What a privilege it was to be here! ‘Fancy some posh coffees and cake?’ Wanda asked, wanting to keep the moment going.
‘I think I’d rather go back to ours, I’m scared I’ll blurt out what they are if we bump into anyone.’ The trio had agreed to keep the boy/girl thing top secret – they wanted to hug it to themselves for as long as possible.
